


années de pèlerinage

by softheartelectricsoul



Category: Original Work, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, England (Country), Freeform, Gen, Guilt, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Magical Realism, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Linear Narrative, Scotland, Surreal, Travel, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softheartelectricsoul/pseuds/softheartelectricsoul
Summary: your feet beat iambic, your heart and head still. you feel, somehow, like you are immortal.this is disquieting, of course, but you continue to walk.it's all you can remember.==a journey to the end of the world, and what it brings to us.





	années de pèlerinage

**Author's Note:**

> this is very vaguely based off of my old vampire stories which in turn were inspired by dnp. i really feel i should at least give them some credit.
> 
> also, this is mildly pretentious and may require a cursory knowledge of james joyce and the country of scotland.

walk and walk and walk.)

**(----)**

when you bit him beneath an apple tree in the garden on james street: he cried, you smiled, and you walked— back home, hiding under thick winter jackets on the crowded christmas trains.

(oh! and to be turned on christmas? wouldn't your darling mother cry seeing what you have become?)

and when you hungered, did not the busker in barbican say that there were answers in caithness?

_why caithness, of all towns, of all counties? i never stopped to ask. but i knew: she was a monster just like me—_

and him: you hungered, and you killed him. now what?

you walk, of course. you walk and walk and walk to the lighthouse on dunnet head, the northernmost point on the British mainland.

and he seeks a cure, (you suppose) and you seek repentance.

so you take the tube to euston, and you lean against each other. the train is cramped and sweaty, though the ice slush grazes the ground outside. the lights are ghostly, dimly yellow-white.

it has not snowed in eleven years, and it may never snow again.

and then you disembark, mourning your five and forty pounds. the sun creeps across the horizon behind a window-pane, casting rays of light across the linoleum floor and into the train carriage. you take great care to avoid it— not taking chances.

(and it only reminds you that you know nothing about who you really are.)

( **vampire** still sounds strange to you)

you sit, and sit, and sit, holding his hand in yours. and you two sit, watching the world pass you by, hungry and on the edge of beast.

you disembark in glasgow, paying by cash, of course. corpses can't use credit. you've never been here before, and he points out all the little sights to you:  
  
the brick stone of a hidden brewery, tucked away on a cobblestone street;

the towers and spires of the glasgow cathedral, looming above the glaring streetlights;

and he points downwards to the asphalt of the main street, and how off the street there is a weak and fragile girl, heart pulsing, fear rising.

you are so, so, hungry.

_i can't do it, not again._

you did it to him, why not to her? just another bright young life you'd be ruining.

he drains the blood from her throat, a gory, familiar sight. you stand back.

_did it look like this? did it look this savage, this terrifying?_

of course.

for you are a monster, after all. and you thirst. oh, you do.

have we forgotten the objective? to walk. to take paths unknown in this unending, frosty, winter's night. to arrive at dunnet head and never thirst again.

you stop in your midsts, the dirt road shifting below you. you're somewhere near applecross. the scottish night air breathes cool and fresh. there is not a human in sight.

and you remember.

 

> _you would have me. isn't that good? can't we go back to normal?_
> 
> you're a monster. you're not my friend.
> 
> _i am. and i want you with me._
> 
> please, **(----)** , don't do this. i know you're in there

there was fear and betrayal and grief in his voice, and you heard it loud and clear.

why didn't you stop?

 

> anyone, literally anyone? help? hello? bloody hell, anyone?

his cries echoed in the darkness.

 

> help? HELP? HELP?

and your fangs sucked the light from his eyes.

you were his friend, his roommate, maybe something more.

and he was bright and young and recovering, fucking recovering, his life was going so damn well.

he said he was going to travel the world— see the eiffel tower and the opera house.

(he or you both?)

(but who are you?)

**(----)**

and you were a hungry animal.

 

> you're a monster.

you are _**alone**_ in the scottish highlands, in the deep of winter night.

and you remember--

leaning against a cold and metal pole in the tube.

gripping a ~~hand~~ train window-frame while passing a village garden. the garden with an apple tree, the garden bordering the graves.

**(apple tree)**

_i'm sorry,_

you say to the earth and the trees and the ghost of your friend. it does not put him to rest.

_i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'll get you back i promise_

_**then walk**_ , someone says. maybe it is the fae who speak it, maybe the earth or stars, maybe your monstrous barbican busker; but regardless, you walk.

and, slowly, it occurs to you that you can't remember your friend's name or yours, or where you lived, or who you worked for. you remember that you are hungry, and you remember how to walk to dunnet head.

and you remember that you cannot drink until you reach the end of the world.

so you walk.

you walk past deep green vales and frozen lakes that stretch further than you have ever seen. you walk past eagles and deer and fallen things.

you walk past cities, glowing in the moonlight. you walk past a woman shifting her blinds to peer at you. you walk past a homeless man dozing on the perfect, curving streets of edinburgh.

you walk past torches and flames on the eve of the new year. you walk past teens at glastonbury. you walk past tears in reality. you walk past rips in time.

you walk to london. you walk the channel tunnel. you walk it back.

you have not yet reached the end of the world, and you are not yet dead.

and they call you the wanderer, and for what?

you walk to hunger. you walk to thirst. you walk to repent.

(you walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> deep apologies to the town of dunnet head.


End file.
